


Questionable Judgement

by Scrunchles



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Caretaking, Drinking, Drunken Flirting, F/F, Girls' Night Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 22:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13063653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/pseuds/Scrunchles
Summary: Lena and Hana convince Fareeha to go out with them, have a girls' night.  No one said anything about Angela coming along.





	Questionable Judgement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xCalli0p3](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=xCalli0p3).



> I wrote this for my friend months ago and finally cleaned it up for posting.

It wasn't Fareeha’s idea to go out.  If it had been, she wouldn't have invited Angela.  She had to suffer through her presence often enough during their missions, she wouldn't willingly blind herself with Angela’s radiance on a night off.

 

And yet, here she was, sitting across from blonde, soft, bright Angela and feeling overwhelmed with just how intimate it felt to be so close and feeling so alone with her in the crowded bar.  Even with Hana and Lena giggling beside them, she was hyper aware of Angela, who was quietly telling Lena that she really, really wasn't looking to hook up with anyone tonight, so please stop pointing at every other patron--no,  _ not that one either. _

 

Humoring the other two women just sent them into another gale of laughter.  Once they had settled down, Lena bounced onto her feet and announced that Angela’s mind was going to change with a few more drinks.

 

She was gone before Angela could protest or even make a request.

 

“She means well,” Fareeha offers Angela, acting like she’s watching Hana answer some comments, but she’s actually very focused on the look of apprehension on Angela’s face as she swirls the last of her first drink around the glass.

 

“Oh, I know she does,” Angela says, pasting a kind smile on and letting the liquid go still.  She leans forward and beckons Fareeha across the table.  Fareeha leans forward.  It would be easy to kiss her, but, instead, Fareeha puts on a conspiratorial smirk.  “I was planning on actually accomplishing something when we got back to the base,” Angela admits softly.

 

Fareeha gives her a mock gasp of shock that finally drags Hana’s attention from her phone.  She presses against Fareeha’s side and leans forward nosily.

 

“I missed it, what happened?  Is it about Lena?” She asks excitedly.

 

“Rude!” Lena chirps as she returns with two glasses.  “Talking about me as soon as I leave?  Rubbish friends you lot are!”

 

“Are both of those for me?” Fareeha asks, reaching for the glasses.

 

“No!  Wouldn't you know it?  I forgot I only have two hands!”  Lena says with an innocent smile, setting Hana’s flamingo-hued drink in front of her and her own beer down.  “Fareeha, love, why don't you get yours and Angie’s drinks?”

 

_ Oh.   _ Fareeha glances at Angela and then back at Lena.  She was going to get Lena back for this.  Emily was going to see the Halloween pictures from ten years ago.  Lena brought this on herself.

 

“What would you like?” She asks, turning her attention back to Angela instead of making her threat.

 

“Whiskey, neat,” Angela tells her.

 

Fareeha nods and walks over to get their drinks.  

 

When she comes back, Angela’s face is red.  Hana is halfway through her second drink and both she and Lena are giggling helplessly.  

 

“Do I want to know?” Fareeha asks.

 

Angela shakes her head and eagerly takes a gulp of her drink when Fareeha sets it down in front of her.

 

“We finally found someone in the bar for Angela to hook up with!” Lena says between gasps for air.

 

“I knew it,” Hana says as she wipes tears from her eyes.

 

“Uh huh.”  She isn't jealous.  She doesn't want to know.  She grits her teeth and plays with the straw in her vivid green mojito.

Hana slides closer to Pharah and nudges her.  “Oh, c’mon, don't you want to help us in our  _ mission _ ?” she asks, her voice sly and low, like there were a hundred things she knew that Fareeha didn't.

 

“No,” she says flatly, trying to sip her drink.  Knowing that there was someone in the bar that could make Angela blush like that just made it taste off.  Fareeha drinks it more quickly, to try and relax again, and to try and get rid of the paranoia surfacing that someone in the bar might be taking Angela home tonight.

 

“Not even if our  _ mission  _ involves a  _ miss _ for the both of you?”  Lena asks, suddenly on Fareeha’s other side.

 

Angela buries her head in her hands and her shoulders shake with laughter.  Fareeha feels her own stomach untangling at the sight.  As long as Angela was having a good time, she would make every attempt to join her.

 

“I don't know, my taste is pretty hit or miss,” Fareeha says after a moment to collect herself.

 

Lena and Hana both erupt, and Fareeha sees Angela shaking her head. She winks at her and Angela’s laughter tapers off, her blush darkening, but Fareeha is already tilting back her mojito.  It tastes better now, more refreshing, but there’s something off about it.

 

“I think he added an extra shot to mine,” Fareeha says, wrinkling her nose.  

 

“I might have asked him to,” Lena admits before taking a pull from her beer.  “You need to loosen up, and I know your professional limit is two half-liquor drinks.”

 

Fareeha rolls her eyes and slides the rest of her mojito away.  The mint leaves were  always her favorite part, too.

 

“Well, if you don't finish it, Angela has to,” Hana says, pushing the drink toward her.

 

“And why is that?” Angela asks, raising a brow and sniffing delicately at the glass.

 

“Because I spent a tenner on that extra shot and someone’s going to drink it!” Lena says, unable to sound as indignant as she would probably like.

 

The face Angela is making at the rest of the drink is pretty pathetic.  She takes a sip from the edge, then shakes her head and sets it back down.

 

“Hana, you like these kinds of drinks, and you don't mind if you get a little sloppy.  You drink it.”

 

Hana laughs and shakes her head.  “I don't like mint,” she says with a grin that clearly says she  _ does _ like mint.

 

Three pairs of eyes turn to Tracer sipping her beer and she waggles it at them.  “None for me, thanks.”

 

The glass makes another few passes across the table before it ends up in front of Fareeha again, her expression dubious until Angela speaks up.  

 

“I'll go get us some food, maybe it will help balance the alcohol,” she says.

 

Fareeha groans and rests her face in her hands once Angela has left.  Thank god her back was to the bar so that she didn't have to watch her glide through the tables and bodies.  Angela is so ethereal when she moves.  Like a goddess.  Fareeha is already starting to feel light headed.

 

“She’s almost buying you dinner,” Hana points out cheerfully. Her attention is on her phone, but she’s talented enough that she has been juggling answering comments and watching Fareeha’s disaster unfold all night.

 

Fareeha makes a pitiful noise.

 

“She’s coming back,” Tracer chirps.

 

Fareeha snaps back upright and takes an idle sip of her drink to try and appear calm.  The alcohol hits her tongue and the soda and lime isn't strong enough to hide the rum.

 

“I brought you a virgin to mix with,” Angela says, setting the vibrant green glass beside Fareeha’s half empty cocktail.

 

“Doubt it,” Tracer and Hana say, nearly overlapping with each other.

 

Angela spares them a sigh and a smile as they high five.  Fareeha begs her gods that Angela didn't see her fumble combining the drinks and carefully sets both glasses down.  She tries not to claw at her burning face as Angela and Lena trade barbs and Hana appears to be videotaping it.  

 

This was a terrible idea.

 

A night out with Lena and Hana and especially Angela was a fucking  _ terrible _ idea.

 

“Fareeha, have some food,” Angela says gently, nudging her leg beneath the table to bring her back from her inner turmoil.

 

Several clumps of potato byproduct covered in cheese rest in a basket on the table.  

 

Angela takes one and begins to eat it, looking at Fareeha as if she’s hoping to be encouraging.

 

Fareeha takes one as well, and it, coupled with Angela’s continued attention, makes her feel worlds better.

 

Angela fretting over her well being still feels strange, but the alcohol doesn't allow her to feel awkward.  

 

Fareeha’s long legs sprawl beneath the table, and occasionally Angela’s brush against them.  Normally, she would draw back, try to contain herself, feel too long and broad for the furniture, but the alcohol and Angela’s wonderful blue eyes keep her relaxed and smiling through two plates of food and the rest of her mojito.

 

When it’s time to leave, the bar is swimming, everything is swimming except Angela.  Fareeha tries to stand on her own, but can't quite make it out of her chair.

 

She sees the look Hana and Lena share and it makes her laugh, not the soft giggle that Angela has, but one much more braying and loud.  The laugh of a drunk soldier, not the sweet, gentle laugh of lovely, bright, kind Angela.

 

“Alright, love, one on each side, yeah?” Lena says from her right.

 

“Gameface, on!” Hana chirps on her left.  Small hands take her arms and she stands with their help.  Her tiny friends sway beneath her weight, and Mercy’s soft, lilting laughter makes her curl her arms around Lena and Hana’s shoulders and hug them tightly.  

 

“ _ Guys, she’s so perfect, this was a great idea _ ,” she says, not even noticing herself slip into her native tongue.

 

Lena and Hana giggle, and there’s comments about how drunk she is, how they don't think they can get her to the door.

 

Gentle hands touch her, and shoulders just as slender take the place of Hana’s.

 

“Lena…” Angela begins, “ _ doesn't… _ ” she tries to continue in faltering Arabic, but then she curses in German, laughs and wraps Fareeha’s arm firmly around her.  “Ah, I can't think of the words… but Lena rarely has bad ideas, no?” 

 

Fareeha feels steadier already with Angela beneath her arm, and when she turns her head, Angela’s hair is wonderful in the low light.   She might say just that, she’s not sure.

 

All she knows is that by the time they make it to the car, Angela is the only one supporting her, and she has both arms wrapped around her.  During the ride, Fareeha starts to feel too hot and restless.  Angela doesn't protest when she sheds her shirt and slumps against the cool window with a whine.

 

When they arrive back at the base, Fareeha doesn't make it past the bathrooms.  She hugs the toilet hard as she heaves all of the food and drink she’s had during the night, and doesn't notice that her hair is being held back by slender, gentle fingers until she sits back and drags her wrist across her mouth.

 

Angela asks Fareeha something in German, but she just frowns and reaches for the toilet paper to clean up.

 

“Ah.  Better?” Angela repeats in English.

 

“A bit,” Fareeha admits.  She tries to protest when Angela takes the paper from her and begins to help her clean up, but Angela is firm, and the look on her face brooks no argument.

 

Fareeha still feels hazy and she’s  _ tired _ .

 

“You don't have to do this,” Fareeha assures Angela when she draws back to make sure she got everything.  

 

“Nonsense,” Angela replies, and Fareeha finally realizes that she’s nowhere near as steady as Fareeha thought she was.  Angela’s hand wavers in the air, and she sways to the side before correcting herself.

 

“Nonsense is… is you taking care of me when you’re…” Fareeha makes a helpless motion with her hand at Angela and it just sets her off in a fit of soft, musical laughter.

 

“Ugh…” Fareeha groans and leans her head back against the wall.  “ _ Why are you so fucking  _ perfect?” she asks the ceiling.

 

“I'm what?” Angela asks, scooting over to sit beside Fareeha.  She wraps her arms around her knees while Fareeha is spread out, long limbs everywhere and wishing she didn't have pants on.  The floor was probably magically cool without her jeans.

 

“ _ You're just.  So perfect, you know _ ?”  Fareeha feels tears in her eyes, but she can't let them fall because  _ Angela _ is right beside her and that would be  _ dumb _ .

 

“No, I don't know,” Angela tells her.  “Do you… want me to leave?” she asks, uncertainty making her voice sound tight and fragile.

 

Fareeha peers at Angela through narrowed eyes for a few seconds before she realizes that she’s not making the effort to speak English.

 

“Only if you are coming right back,” Fareeha says, trying for wit, but even she can hear it fall on its face as soon as it leaves her mouth.  “I mean--I would miss you.”  There had to be  _ something _ clever she could say.  She groans and scrubs at her face with her hands, grasping for something,  _ anything _ .  “It’s  _ Amari _ cle that you are still here.”

 

Angela laughs at that one, and her hand is gentle when she pulls Fareeha’s hand away from her face.  Fareeha lets her other hand fall as well, too focused on the two pale, dainty hands clasped around her coarse, sun scorched fingers.

 

“I am a  _ merciful  _ friend,” Angela says, and one of her hands lifts to Fareeha’s cheek.  She draws her in and presses a soft kiss to her hot, sweaty forehead.  “And I’m going to go get you some water,” she tells Fareeha, giving her hand a squeeze.

 

“Don't go too Pharah,” Fareeha says, watching her stand shakily. She leans heavily on the wall, and as she wobbles away Angela removes her heels and goes barefooted.  Fareeha’s watches with a look of wonder and adoration.  Her brain can only bear to keep chasing itself around over and over again.   _ Angela is an angel.  Angela is an angel. _

 

Fareeha awakens the next morning on the couch in Common Room B with a pair of slender legs entwined with her own.  There is a small foot on her chest, and another resting on the back of the couch.  One of her own legs is trapped beneath a sleeping Angela and the other is bent, her knee supporting Angela’s foot up on the back of the couch.

 

She is no longer wearing her jeans.

 

Angela has them draped across her torso like a blanket.

 

Fareeha blinks at the situation blearily and then closes her eyes again.  The light hurts and her tongue feels like sandpaper.

 

She raises a hand to her forehead and digs her thumb into her temple.  It slips on something slick, and Fareeha wonders what could  _ possibly _ have ended up on her head when she draws her thumb back to see a familiar hue.  It smells like lipstick, and the color matches Angela’s faded rouge.

 

Fareeha touches the rest of her face and her fingers come away with color in no less than three other spots.  She closes her eyes again and snuggles down into the couch.  Something excellent had happened last night, and she was stretched out on the couch with Angela, likely all morning.  

 

Maybe next weekend they could go out again.  Minus Lena and Hana.


End file.
